


a god waits at a bus stop

by poesword



Series: original poetry [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Magical Realism, Mythology - Freeform, Poetry, Prose Poem, lower case is intentional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:36:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poesword/pseuds/poesword
Summary: winded prose and a glimpse at otherworldly beings





	a god waits at a bus stop

**Author's Note:**

> this poem is inspired by [this post](https://wtnvgenerator.tumblr.com/post/171279315589/i-saw-the-face-of-god-and-it-was-waiting-for-the)

rain leaked from the clouds like a cloth being wrung out.

i stood at the corner of the intersection, shoulder pressed up against the plexiglass wall of the bus stop. i watched cars roll by, the harsh  _shhh_ of tires tearing through puddles. my watch read 4:59, one minute until the next bus would arrive. my eyes drooped, lethargic and bleary, and i suppressed a yawn that billowed in my throat. another car rushed past to beat the traffic light.

somewhere underneath my feet, far down below the crumbling pavement and layers of dirt and rock, the storm growled. my watch still read 4:59.

a gust of bitter wind shoved me farther up against the glass, seeping into my skin unpleasantly. i shrunk into myself, pulling the edges of my jacket closer, tighter. my eyes fluttered shut for a moment, little more than a blink, as a tremor racked my spine. when i opened them, a man stood beside me in the rain.

he held an umbrella; a plain, solid black one, with a mohogany handle gripped in his gloved hand. draped over broad shoulders was a dark wooly coat, frayed with age and wear, matted from weather and wind beating down on it.

half of his face was obscured by the umbrella, the only visible part being his 5 o' clock shadow, dark hair curled at the nape of his neck, and deep brown skin that contrasted with the dull, dreary sky.

i watched him in my periphery, tracking the way his head tilted to glance at the charcoal stormclouds, and how he pulled a brass pocketwatch out from inside his coat and coaxed it open. there were no numbers or clock hands on the pocketwatch's face. what stared up at his shrouded face was a murky surface--mirror-like, with the exception of how the surface warped and rippled like oil.

he folded the pocketwatch with a click, slipping it back into its pocket in one, swift motion.

the ground rumbled. above, a jagged white line flashed in the dark sky.

the man sighed, low and hoarse. my eyes followed as he lifted a hand through the air. immediately, the rain was paused. drops were suspended in the air, holding its breath, bracing for an impact that refused to come.

i hesitantly lifted a hand to the sky, catching a raindrop on my fingertips. the ice-cold sensation pried goosebumps from my arms. i barely noticed the man beside me lower his umbrella and tug it shut.

_do you have the time?_ his voice echoed in my head. 

a very quiet feeling in the back of my mind warned me to not look up, to not gaze upon his face and see my reflection in his eyes.

i glanced at my watch. the words formed on my lips but not a sound escaped.

_its four-fifty-nine,_  i heard myself think.  _has been for a while._

a flash of pearl-white teeth. 

_excellent. not much longer now,_ he whispered. 

i focused on a muddy puddle that filled a pothole beside the curb. in its reflection i saw the faded red sign that erected from the ground, marking the bus stop. and along the sharp edges of the puddle, i saw a face.

i gasped and felt myself shut my eyes. the air swelled in my lungs, contorting and clawing to escape. but i did not exhale. i did not lift my lashes and take a peek at the opalescent eyes that stared back unblinking, unflinching, unafraid.

the wheeze of an engine drew near. it creaked and groaned to a stop, a chime signalling the doors opening.

i heard footsteps leave the space beside me, and climb onto the awaiting bus.

the engine coughed, and the vehicle crawled away, quieter and quieter until i could hear only the near-deafening march of the rain as the storm resumed its control.

i released my breath with a heave. my eyes flew open and grimaced at the muted colours of the street. everything was dull, damp, and dismal. absolutely nothing like the man's iridescent eyes, burned into my memory like an ember trapped in amber.

i inspected my watch. 

5:00.

_finally_ , i mutter.  _i was starting to get tired of always waiting here._


End file.
